prompt: 50. “I’m starting an idiot jar. Any time you do or say anything idiotic, you have to put at least a dollar in it—more depending on how stupid the thing that you said or did was.”
summary: even the coolest NYC hero gets to fall in love with a pretty smile.
genre: spider man!au | slightly florist!reader | super super fluff (like 1000%)
pairing: mark lee / reader
word count: 2.7k
a/n: this is a draft i wrote for another writing blog (i’ll be posting there too anyway) but i really thought you’d like it :)) i really hope you do!!! ((though i’ve started another spider man au with mark and i intend to dedicate it to you because this prompt inspired me ^^)) ah!! lowkey inspired by spider-man homecoming i love tom holland so i hope this is at least good ^~^
First encounters are
not always very magical, neither are they like we dreamt.
When Mark Lee first landed his eyes on the hysterical form of you, there
were paper sheets flying over the wind and a very frustrated body running from
one side to other of the street, aimlessly trying to gather as much documents
as your hands could hold—and to be at least honest, you could not pick even
three of them. You wheezed, annoyed by the fact that your chemistry essay was
vanishing from your vision and traveling to a place very far away from where
That, you thought, was my only salvation. Without that piece of work you would
probably fail the subject—considering that the essay was a component for the
last test you’d to take (to be exact: 40% of your mark depended on that stupid assignment). You sighed; you’d
have to manage the entire night for that, making the whole thing again.
Mark shifted the weight of his body and gulped—Haechan (his friend)
rolled his eyes, completely aware of his friend’s new-born platonic love—he peeked
a paper close to where he was standing, and with all courage he had ever had
inside his physique Mark took his way to you. To Haechan’s eyes his actions
were clumsy and his words sounded like whisper and made no sense at all. He
remembered how Mark had been when Liz was still around and how he had heart
eyes over her—it was annoying.
Haechan called Mark once, warning him to just let the thing go, after all
they still had to go to class, but the brunette boy simply ignored his friend’s
Mark touched your shoulder. “Hum, excuse me.”
You turned your body to face the him. “Ah, yes?”
“I guess,” he said, stuttering “I guess this belongs to you” Mark handed
you the paper.
“Thank you” you gave him the sweetest smile you could.
You didn’t know, but Mark Lee melted under you gaze, completely amused
by the beautiful sight of you and your smile. He had never seen you before that
day, but he’s utterly sure you were the most gorgeous girl in the universe; not
only because your eyes were almost closed when you smiled, neither because your
perfume was a mixture of lilies and mint—which made Mark feel a little dizzy
due to the dulcet scent—but yet because you showed him the purest reaction he
had ever expected.
What if the Galra usually have several babies at a time like most creatures do, instead of having just one like humans? What if Keith was the runt of the “litter” and was put in a box before he could walk and left in a busy market street, with a sign advertising “Free Galra Hybrid?”
What if one of the Blades of Marmora had found him (Maybe Thace or Ulaz), and had debated their military duty against the small pleading eyes and whimpering calls?
What if they took him home? Or whatever base was home for them? What if they were on their way to Earth to scout for the Blue lion, and saw that it would be a peaceful, Zarkon-free place for Keith to be raised? What if they taught him to use his shifting abilities permanently, or found a way to put a spell to keep him human looking? What if Keith was much older by this point and Thace/Ulaz had to wipe his memories of them and install fake ones of a orphan life on Earth? What if they gave the Blade to Keith before leaving?
What if years later Ulaz releases a prisoner, looking into the eyes of a young fighter that scream of a long forgotten home, and tells him that Earth needs him, and that the Blade of Marmora is with him? What if he stands on the deck of his little space-time-bending outpost, forcing himself to remain stoic as the child he raised is wearing a red and white uniform and carrying the weight of the universe on his narrow shoulders. What if Ulaz vows to speak to him later, to tell him all and hold him like he used to?
What if Thace is infiltrating Zarkon’s command ship on what he knows is his last mission, struggling to plant the virus when suddenly there is a paladin of Voltron before him, but the only thing he can see is the blade in the boy’s hand, mind flashing back to the last words he had spoken to the child that is now a stranger:
there's literal hell in the Tim Drake tag and so I'd just like to ask, what are the actual positives of Tim's character? Everyone likes to completely shit on him and claim he's the worst and others claim he is the only true pure cinnamon. And I'm just confused.
Tim’s origin story is terrible. He did not sleuth out Batman’s identity; he was simply obsessed with Dick Grayson and Batman after witnessing the Graysons’ deaths and thus recognized a flip Robin did when he was watching the news. He then went into a grieving household, acting bizarrely out of touch emotionally, and claimed “Batman needs a Robin” with 0 evidence. Bruce didn’t need a Robin, he was grieving his dead son (something Tim only gives passing thought, having never cared much about Jason) and needed support, which Dick agreed to provide as Nightwing. But Tim is obsessed with Robin and said that wasn’t enough, and donned the suit anyway.
It’s OOC and plot hole-ridden. How could Dick and Alfred encourage a stranger and child to put himself in danger after Jason? Is it not extremely fucked up that Bruce needs a kid (not even his OWN kid) to do that for his emotional stability? And it’s never even backed up - in subsequent stories Tim does absolutely nothing for Bruce’s wellbeing. In fact Tim acts affronted when Bruce’s mood disorders manifest or his PTSD leads to him getting triggered by reminders of Jason. Also, by the point of Tim’s origin he has absolutely no personal relationship to crime to justify becoming Robin. The “child sidekick” thing only works when the kid really needs it, like Dick and Jason did.
So “Batman needs a Robin, Tim saved Bruce!” is a total utter lie. “Tim is so brilliant, he figured out Batman’s identity!” is also a lie. And later it’s also clear that “Tim is the best staff fighter and skilled from his training with Shiva!” is a lie too; he spent one week getting kicked around by Shiva in a yard. That was it.
The truth really is that Tim is a white rich boy with tons of privilege, specifically created in the aftermath of the classism that killed Jason Todd, as well as a DC executive mandate that decided the comics needed a Robin again.
Now, some facts about Tim:
He is not a great fighter and in fact tended to get beat up even by people less trained than him. However, he IS good at trickery and roundabout techniques that allow him to win anyway.
He’s not a great detective, but he seems to be good with research and hacking.
It is unintentionally implied throughout his run, starting in his earliest appearances, that Tim is neurodivergent, possibly on the autism spectrum. He also was prone to hallucinations in times of great stress.
Tim’s parents did indeed spend most of their time traveling, leaving him with a nanny or at boarding school. But Tim was never left alone or went hungry, he was just raised the way a lot of rich kids are.
Tim hated school, dropped out, and did not want anything to do with corporate business. Even Red Robin, which bigged up his sueness and paved the way to New52 Tim, limited his Wayne Enterprises involvement to an offshoot charity program.
Tim did like tabletop rpgs and videogames, but he really was not a nerd in school. The popular kids seemed to like him just fine.
Tim being asian or originally coded asian is a total myth. Across his run in comics, from his early appearances ~1991, he’s explicitly called white.
Tim consistently considers himself more Drake than Wayne, and always puts Jack Drake before Bruce in terms of who his father is. But he never felt neglected by Bruce, who was canonically a very attentive and supportive mentor to Tim.
Tim is canonically a cheater who had both physical and emotional affairs and never confessed them to either his girlfriend, or the girl he cheated with.
So the critiques people have on Tim are valid. He was created to be palatable to white middle class men as a self-insert after DC wanted a Robin again, and thus a lot of his character today gets undermined as a result.
I don’t have a first name for her yet but her surname is redback and we’ve all been calling her red. some irl friends and I are starting up a dnd campaign so we’ve all been fleshing out our characters together!
by veering off by getting caught in trying to be funny. Pays the full price and ends up with additional shit he didn't need in the first place.
by scaring everyone into giving her a discount. Ends up paying too much anyway because Orlesian coin she tries to use worth more than Fereldan coin due to economic devastation brought about the civil war and the Blight. Won't tell you where she got the Orlesian coin. Upon trust level +75, will tell you a story gruesomely embellished about how she got them.
by haggling loudly and relentlessly. Shouts m erchant into a net loss. Zevran admirs that at the dockside market of the Antiva City his haggling technique would've been considered 'meek whispering'.
scammers targeting the elderly whisper nervously about an older woman. There's the fear of the Maker in the whisperers' hearts.
with an axe.
having cracked buttock in a previous fight, she finds that her buttocks run with rich gold veins. Doesn't mind shaving a few inches off. Alternatively, a rockslide.
sticky fingers and long, long, long, long, long, long stories.
The tombstones are old and faded and limestone, made unreadable by time and wet Michigan Springs. Most of them are small, knee-height on an adult, but a few are waist-height and one is an obelisk taller than I am. When I was small I played in that graveyard with my cousins. We ran our hands over the rough surfaces, tried to read the names engraved on them. We hid behind the larger stones and rested against them. We measured yearly growth against how high on the obelisk we could reach.
At least, in the daylight.
When the sun hovered above the horizon my grandma came out from the house and ordered us back inside. Grudgingly, we went. From second-story bedroom windows we could see fireflies dancing around the tombstones, but it didn’t matter how many times we begged to go out and catch them. Grandma always said no.
Never pass the gate when the sun is down, she told us. Never mark a tombstone. She would not tell us why.
Years later, after we grew too old to play tag and hide-and-go-seek, the flyers started appearing. MISSING: Daniel Elkheart, age nine, last seen in the old graveyard. My grandma said nothing, but her lips pulled tight and a shiny new lock held the old gate shut. There was pity in her eyes, and a knowing. She would not look at the graveyard.
I went back in March to help clean house after Grandfather’s death. Grandma doesn’t remember me now. The Parkinson’s took her from us. For old time’s sake, and to get out of that house which has changed far too much from when I was small, I took a walk in the graveyard (during the day, because Grandma is not the only one who remembers).
Halfway up the obelisk there were markings too fresh to be original. Ragged letters in childish handwriting.
i dont mean to get Real but the younger kin community can be so obnoxious and the older can too someyimes but like with everyone here on tumblr its like
1. assuming everyone chooses identities as coping and acts like its bizarre bullshit when people see it as a spiritual/reincarnation thing when the entire original definition of fictionkin was the spiritual/reincarnation one
2. then using these beliefs to shame people for believing they reincarnated from a “”“bad”“” character (bad being even as vague as sailor moon because it has “pedophilic undertones” i have seen this)
3. the bizarre black and white mentality that claims if you partake in/openly enjoy something you believe it is flawless and so obviously if you watch something that has literally any inherent problems you are the devil i guess
4. literally adopting fake claims from yanderebitchclub lmao
5. making fun of frivolous shit like kin drama and then turning sround and engaging in the HEAVIEST of kin drama and vagueing and openly discussing it like… YOU ARE THE ISSUE HERE LMAO
also funny story if you use id’s to cope theres an entirely different term which is copinglink. you may not be intrudingon anything but keep in mind the semantics and original definition of fictionkin and otherkin is that you believe you were these other beings in another life
and ofc some people in the older kin community think they know everything and always want to SHOUT their opinions about how doing kin things like finding canonmates (even if you take the necessary precautions) is DUMB and they would NEVER and how you can only have a CERTAIN NUMBER OF KINTYPES but honestly ive mostly met very nice, accepting people of both copinglinks and fictionkin so…….
When you have a second, I need your advice: should I get Destiny 2? I played the original a lot, but it seemed like I always ran out of things to do about an hour after I started. I know there's a lot of good things being said about it now, but I remember the same thing happening with Destiny 1 until the hype wore off. I don't want to spend $60 on a game I'll get fed up with so soon, so hype aside, is it a good game?
Well, I will be very honest with you. The game is fantastic. The story is great, there are hints about future content that actually mean something, the scenery is as beautiful as ever, and it is always fun to shoot aliens in their respective faces. THere are some quality of life features/updates here and there that could be adjusted or fixed, but there isn’t anything that makes the game unplayable.
However, at some point, you are gonna hit a bit of a leveling wall. And it WILL make you play the same strikes over again, run the same patrol missions over again, play crucible over again. The grind is still there. And like Destiny 1, it is more enjoyable with friends, but you can do a lot of the game solo and still have a good time. In fact, there is a feature that will be in Beta soon called Guided Games. This lets Clans take solo players under their wing temporarily into Normal Mode Nightfalls and Normal Mode Raids. It could even ignite a spark of friends and good times, and you’ll want to join that clan and do the Prestige difficulty of Nightfall or Hard Mode of the Raid.
It’s up to you really. Destiny 1 got better over time. Destiny 2 hasn’t been out a full week yet, you have plenty of time to make the call.
Why do people think that K@llura getting confirmed is a bad thing? It's been done before in the past and the creators are huge fans of the original so there's no way that they won't play around with the idea of their relationship going into romantic waters. Just let them do what they want with the series, it's their story and not your headcanon.
Bc they want Keith to be gay for Lance lmao that’s legit the reason
Dang some parts of the fandom loved the annual while others parts... not so much. The biggest complaint I've heard is actually the Jason's history of seeing Dick at the circus as a kid. A lot of people are upset that Jason is 'stealing' from Tim everything that made him special. Of course there's a number arguing back that Tim technically stole from Jason first since Jason's original story had the circus connection to Dick first. Oh boy the Jason and Tim fans are really going at it.
If that aspect of his backstory is the only thing that makes Tim special he has a lot more problems than just Jason stealing it.
Jason’s original origin was a circus kid just like Dick and Dick was going to adopt him. To say the character has never had a connection to the circus or Dick is laughable. New 52 and Rebirth aren’t bound by Post-Crisis or anything.
It’s not like it had anything about Jason witnessing the Grayson’s deaths and discovering Batman’s identity.
Tim’s memory of that night in Post-Crisis was always a bit of a hard sell anyway because of his age and Dick’s at the time.
I don't think people should like the Hades/Persephone story if it makes them uncomfortable, but there's a lot of text that explains that the language has changed over time and that she actually walked into the Underworld herself and decided to stay. I have a link hold on.
ah yes, I very much so agree with stuff like this,, I’d talk more but I feel like everyone should just read this and the most important thing to take away from it is THERE IS NO ORIGINAL, like seriously there’s tons of different variations of different myths, we have literally no clue which is true
Because it would break the flow of the story to do it separately, I have chosen to do it like this. I’m sorry if reading it a second time shows off all my mistakes too badly. lol
He knew she was there long before she stood in the frame of his bedroom doorway.
She’d come in through the window, but the fact that she hadn’t tried to mask her entrance, along with the unique weight and grace of her feet on his worn floor boards, had put him at ease.
And it wasn’t as though he had been asleep in any case.
She stood in the doorway for a long moment, and he watched her through half closed eyes, knowing he was safely hidden in the shadows of the room. She looked stunning, even in only the moonlight. Her hair, once teased and piled neatly upon her head, had come down in places and a dark curl fell over one shoulder. The dress she wore was mod and short, not even reaching mid-thigh, the rich blue color odd in the gloom. She tilted her head and her large earrings swayed, catching a bit of light, sending it dancing along the barren walls. He feigned sleep and was soon rewarded – or perhaps punished was a far more apt term – with the sound of her bare feet making their way closer. Her form moving out of the light and into silhouette. He closed his eyes and felt her climb onto his bed, crawling and shifting until she held herself over him. She smelled of cigarettes and other smoke, her breath tinged with vodka. Beneath it was her soft perfume and the unique scent he knew to be only hers.
“Illya, are you asleep?” Her voice was a stage whisper, loud as it broke the previous silence.
There was hardly a point in pretending, she hadn’t even tried to sneak up on him, and she knew him too well to think he would sleep through all of that. He opened one eye and peered at her.
“Who can sleep through such nonsense?” he asked. “You did not even try.”
“No,” she said, softer now. “I don’t want you to shoot me.”
“Not that I couldn’t sneak up on you. If I wanted to.”
He had no desire to argue with her in the dead of night so he said. “Of course.” His tone, however, betrayed him and she narrowed her eyes. Before she could issue a challenge of some sort he cut her off. “What are you doing here?”
She shrugged, adjusting herself on her hands, which were pressed into the bed at his sides. Her knees bracketed his hips and he instinctively brought his hands up to hold her, unsure which instinct was strongest - to keep her close or to keep her away. His hands curled around her ribcage. There was a cut out in the back of her dress, and his fingertips met warm, soft skin.
She looked down at him and he could just make out her face, her eyes black in the darkness and so serious. “I wanted to see you.”
He inhaled in slowly through his nose, her words strumming along the strings of desires he wanted to keep silent. “You are drunk.”
She made a face. “Barely.”
She made a sound of exasperation but when she moved, he clung to her, keeping her where she was.
“How was your night out with Solo?” he asked, forcing casual. She didn’t need to know he had lain awake thinking of her, out again with a man who thought nothing of taking a new lover every night. Thinking of the men that fell at her feet if she so much as tried to catch their attention.
She sighed. “Loud, crowded. The music was good. There was dancing.”
“You like dancing.”
“Yes, but you would have hated it.”
“That is not the point.” He took her in, her dark eyeliner was slightly smudged, her false lashes long and teasing. He was bare chested and the beads she wore had coiled cool and solid on his skin. The loose piece of her hair hung down beside him, brushing his cheek. “Did you dance?”
“There was a man,” she said. She was studying him as well, with those eyes of hers – large, dark eyes that at first, ignorant glance seemed innocent and childlike – taking him apart, piece by piece to see all his inner-workings.
“This one wanted to take me home with him.”
He went still, the words striking deep, sharp and hot like shrapnel. He fought back the rising tide of jealousy and anger, the futile insistence of his heart that she was his.
“Then why are you here?” It wasn’t a demand, or a mockery, only a question but despite his best efforts, his voice had gone hoarse.
“I realized something,” she said and her face was solemn, the corners of her perfect lips turned down. Her eyes flitted over his face, resting on his lips a moment before returning to his.
“What did you realize?” Was that his voice, a whisper of sound that caught in his throat as it tried to exit.
“I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”
“Gaby.” He couldn’t do this here, now. He was too weak with her above him, her gaze earnest, her chin set in determination. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears. She was a wound in him that would never heal, and it didn’t matter that he had refused to allow himself to love her… it had happened anyway. “This is a bad idea.”
“Just one kiss, Illya,” she said softly, leaning in. “that’s all I’m asking for.”
He breathed in sharply and brought his hands to her face, cupping her head. Her entire skull fit between his two palms but the damage he could do to her was nothing compared to what she could do to him. “No,” he said sharply, holding her there. “I will not play this game with you.”
“I’m not playing a game, Illya.” Her mouth was a thin line and her chin was set. “This is not a game to me.”
He steamed air through his nostrils, lost, consumed. His gaze fell to her lips and his voice was a hushed thing, a rumble in his chest, a desperate plea for mercy. “If I kiss you once, I will never stop kissing you.”
She settled back on his thighs, and brought her hands up to grip his wrists, her thumbs stroking at the backs of his hands. “Then don’t stop.”
His thumb stroked her cheek reflexively and his gaze fell momentarily to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “You should go home,” he repeated. “You are drunk.”
She huffed, her fingers tightening on his wrists. “You think I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t had a few drinks?”
Her eyes narrowed, her mouth tight, but she relented after a moment. “Maybe you’re right.”
A small victory, he thought, as every cell in his being cried out in disappointment.
“But I would still be thinking about it.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I lied,” she continued. “Earlier, when I said I just wanted one kiss. I don’t want just one, Illya, I want all of them.”
His mouth opened to respond but he had no words, nothing to say in the face of this assault on his secret hopes. He frowned, looking into her eyes, trying to find the falsehood, the tease. This couldn’t be true.
“If the fact that we could never have forever is what’s holding you back,” she insisted, leaning further into his hands which still held her face. “Then don’t let it. I am not a fool, Illya. I know it will end, it will have to end, but we have right now…”
“Gaby…” He held his breath, trying to still the tremor that had started in his arm.
“We can have right now and I want that. I want you, for as long as I can have you.” She set her jaw a moment, looking over his face. Her eyes were pleading when they returned to his and it undid him completely. “Your lips on mine, your head on the pillow beside me, in my bed, across the breakfast ta—"
Before she could finish, he dragged her face down to his, closing his mouth over hers before he could change his mind, before she changed hers. A desperate sound broke in the space between their lips, and he was pretty sure it came from him when he felt her kiss him back.
Her mouth was hot and sweet and perfect and more than any imagining he had ever conjured of her. He ran his tongue over her lower lip and she opened to him, her hands sliding from his wrists to his chest, then his shoulders and neck, her thumb stroking along his jaw as their tongues met and moved together.
They parted eventually, and he pressed his forehead to hers. “I am dreaming,” he whispered.
“You said you wouldn’t stop,” Gaby teased. “But you’ve stopped.”
A smile pulled at his mouth, happiness and disbelief mixed in the small laugh that fell from it. “Not for long,” he returned and rolled her over, pinning her beneath him. He kept his word. He didn’t stop kissing her until she’d had three orgasms and they’d both passed out from exhaustion. He would start again in the morning. If she would take now, take him, take what he could give… if it could be enough for
her, he would make it be everything.